


Enduring Freedom

by LydiaBSlade



Series: Destination Unknown [13]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, Cybersex, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Graphic Violence, Referenced Mitaka/Thanisson, Referenced Rape Fantasy, Referenced mass shooting, Sub Kylo, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 09:01:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22393054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaBSlade/pseuds/LydiaBSlade
Summary: The war in Afghanistan turns out not to be quite what Hux expected, but at least he has WiFi.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Series: Destination Unknown [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1198000
Comments: 29
Kudos: 60





	Enduring Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> See endnotes for detailed content warnings.

“Hey, dude,” Hux’s roommate says, cheerfully, “your phone’s blowing up. Your mom’s probably freaking out.”

Hux startles awake, sitting up guiltily. “Oh, fuck - what’s going on?”

“You’re fine, they called the all-clear like an hour ago. I didn’t see the point of waking you up to tell you you could go back to sleep.”

“Thanks,” Hux says, feeling like an idiot. He squints at his BlackBerry. The Skype app is blinking furiously with a series of missed calls and messages from Ben. He pulls up the message log. Ben has been messaging him, sounding increasingly frantic, for the past two hours. 

_what the fuck_

_are you even getting these_

_fucking answer me!_

He’s sent a link to a BBC News article. Apparently a hotel next to the base had been attacked by a Taliban-affiliated local militia. There are references to Westerners being taken hostage and to an ongoing firefight between the insurgents and the Afghan National Security Forces. It isn’t clear from the article that the hotel isn’t actually on the base and that the base itself had been in no danger, except from stray rounds.

_I’m fine_, Hux writes back. _You knew more about what was going on than I did. I’ll call you when my roommate leaves._

_About fucking time,_ Ben writes back immediately. _Where are you? The news made it sound like it was just a pile of rubble where you are._

_Maybe at the off-post hotel that got attacked_, Hux responds. _But the insurgents never even tried to get into our base._ He hesitates, then decides to reassure Ben instead of trying to impress him. _I just woke up. That’s why I didn’t write back earlier._

_Oh my god,_ Ben responds, _are you fucking serious right now? I thought you’d been blown up or kidnapped by the Taliban and you’ve been asleep the whole time?_

_Sorry to disappoint you,_ Hux writes back.

_Oh my god fuck off_

His roommate is laughing. “Buddy, I told you you could just go back to sleep. But I’m glad you were up defending our freedom. For a while, anyway.”

Hux has been stationed at the international airbase in Kabul for two weeks now, but the previous night had been his first experience with the mortar alarms. They went off, blaring, shortly after midnight, accompanied by the distant sound of explosions that shook the ground, like giant footsteps. The mortar alarms were rapidly followed by an announcement ordering the coalition forces on the base to shelter in place. 

Hux, shaken out of sleep and determined not to be caught off guard, immediately got up and dressed, pulling on his body armor and getting his pistol and issued rounds out of the lockbox where he kept them while he slept. Then he sat down on the bed, not sure what to do next. 

His roommate - an Air Force intelligence officer named Batjargal, who had, perhaps inevitably, been nicknamed “Batman” by his colleagues - cracked open an eye and peered at him. “What are you doing?” Hux gestured wordlessly towards the small window, indicating the alarms and explosions. “Dude, there’s nothing you can do about it,” said Batman, who was a veteran of a full six months in Afghanistan. “Go back to sleep.”

“I can’t just sleep when there’s a firefight going on outside,” Hux objected indignantly.

“Sure you can. This happens all the time. Besides, what are you going to do about it? All you have is an M9 - I guess maybe you can throw it at the insurgents if they come through the door.”

“It has a maximum effective range of fifty meters,” Hux said, annoyed. “At least it might buy me some time.”

Batman shrugged and went back to sleep. “Suit yourself.” Hux remained awake, staring into the darkness, listening to the explosions outside and wondering what else he could do. He was tempted to reach for his BlackBerry to pass the time, but opted not to, feeling that it might compromise his alertness. Then he found himself waking up to his roommate’s voice. Sunlight was streaming in through the window. He was slumped against the wall, with an ache in his neck where the body armor had held him stiffly at an awkward angle. 

As soon as his roommate leaves to take a shower in the communal bathroom down the hall, Hux calls Ben. By this point, Ben sounds more exhausted than angry. 

“Look,” he says, “if shit like that happens, can you please just text me so I know you’re alive? I’m losing my mind watching the news from here and not being able to reach you.”

“You need to relax,” Hux says, half-annoyed, half-pleased that Ben had been so worried about him. “It’s not anything like what you see on the news. It’s much more boring than that most of the time.”

“Good,” Ben says. “Boring is good.”

Hux hadn’t been remotely certain what he would find in Afghanistan, but the NATO base where he’s stationed is actually much more comfortable than he ever would have anticipated. He feels as if he’s on a college campus that he isn’t allowed to leave. The community on the base is young and diverse, a kaleidoscope of uniforms from dozens of countries: Hux entertains himself by trying to learn to recognize them on sight and to understand their peculiarities. 

On his second day in-country, Hux found himself in line behind an Australian cavalry officer who was wearing an especially impressive hat - it looked to Hux like something a cowboy would wear, but decorated with an enormous, curling white feathery plume. After many minutes of staring at it in the motionless line, Hux tapped the man on the shoulder.

“Excuse me,” he said, “but if you don’t mind, I was just wondering - what’s the significance of the feather in your hat?”

The man turned around - he was handsome and sunburned, with sandy blond hair and sharp blue eyes - and grinned at Hux. “When we come across each other,” he said, “we lower our heads and tickle each other with the feathers. It’s a kind of mating ritual.”

Hux flushed red and looked at his feet. 

The American and European troops run their own separate mess halls, which serve a variety of international food options several times a day: Hux usually ignores the cardboard-tasting “Western-style” meals in favor of the excellent curries that the mostly South Asian mess hall workers make for their own consumption. 

There is a bazaar that sells unusual and often tasteless souvenirs: Hux has already dismissed the Taliban-vs.-Americans chess set as too on-the-nose, but he recently purchased a copyright-violating “Afghanistan Starbucks” coffee mug for his own use. He has also been half-heartedly browsing through the wide selection of handmade rugs patterned with tanks and bombs and skulls, which seem like the kind of macabre interior decor that Ben might appreciate. 

There is a well-supplied gym in a large tent, which offers Zumba classes in the evenings that seem to be popular both with female soldiers and with the men who hang around to ogle them. At sunset, the reggaeton from the Zumba teacher’s boombox clashes discordantly with the call to prayer from the Turkish soldiers’ nearby mosque. 

There is even an overpriced Thai restaurant on the base, run by a Thai drag queen, nicknamed “Wow,” who seems to like Hux. Hux’s roommate had introduced him to her on his first free night in the country, and she stroked his cheek and told him that his haircut was “on point.” It occurred to Hux afterwards that at one point he would have gone out of his way to avoid being seen with someone like her, but in his state of jet-lagged dislocation her welcoming presence had been a warm point of relief. 

Certainly meeting her had been preferable to the last time someone touched him. That had been an elderly woman at Fort Hood, who insisted on hugging him and handing him a Christian prayer card before he boarded the plane for Kabul. Hux, exhausted and already aching to see Ben again after only a short time apart, did his best to avoid her, but was unsuccessful. 

Being harassed by evangelical well-wishers was only the final aggravation after weeks of increasing stress that preceded his departure for Afghanistan. Those weeks had been an endless series of anthrax vaccinations, educational videos, ever-changing and ever-lengthening packing lists, and the logistical hurdles associated with moving everything he owned out of his apartment and into a storage container. Through it all, Ben’s alternating bouts of anxiety and anger had been another problem that Hux felt helpless to solve. In person, he thought, he might have been able to soothe Ben, or at least distract him temporarily, but the distance between them made that nearly impossible. 

Finally, there had been the nerve-grating ordeal of the Corps goodbye ceremony, which took place on a basketball court at the Fort Hood gym shortly after dawn on a chilly Tuesday morning. Tired, unhappy-looking soldiers and their families slowly filled the gym, to the incongruously cheerful music of a military band. No one was excited to be deploying; looking around, Hux realized that he was probably one of the few soldiers in the unit for whom this was a new and still-interesting experience. Most of the senior personnel at the corps headquarters had been through multiple deployments. Hux’s supervisor, a wiry lieutenant colonel with a stiff brush of grey hair, had once mentioned off-handedly that he had been gone for half his daughter’s life - alternating years at home and years in combat since she was born.

As the soldiers slowly assembled, the garrison commander droned through a speech that was meant to be inspirational but which was clearly only an irritant to the soldiers and their families who were trying to quietly say whatever last things they had to say to each other. Hux sat tensely by himself, telling himself how glad he was that he had stopped Ben from flying down to be part of this. 

After the speech, a group of women in shiny polyester approximations of 1940s pin-up outfits performed a medley of patriotic songs. Most of the soldiers seemed equally underwhelmed by this part of the ceremony; the grinning jingoism of the music was at odds with the generally grim, resigned mood in the room. As the soldiers filed into the bus that would take them to the waiting airplane, one of their children screamed inconsolably by the door of the gymnasium. The sound rattled through Hux’s head like a migraine until the bus pulled away. 

“The thing is,” Ben is saying now, “the thing I keep thinking about, is that no one’s going to tell me if anything happens to you. I guess they’ll tell your dad. I’m just going to be sitting here like an asshole wondering if you’re not calling me back because you’re pissed at me or because you got blown up.”

“I’m not going to get blown up,” Hux says impatiently. “I already told you, it’s not like what you see on the news. I spend most of my time drafting General Tarkin’s reports to DC and putting together PowerPoint presentations about how well the war is going. It’s an office job.” 

Hux opts not to mention that the spacious office he shares with a group of other staff officers - which has large windows and a breathtaking view of the snowcapped mountains that ring Kabul - had originally been intended for General Tarkin‘s use, but that the general had been moved to a different location after his security team became concerned that the beautiful windows might create an easy opportunity for a sniper to take a shot at anyone inside. 

“Look,” Ben says, “that’s awesome, I hope it stays that way, but you’re still in Afghanistan. In a war zone. Even if it’s not the worst place you could be.”

“Honestly, I don’t even really feel like I’m in Afghanistan,” Hux says. “It feels more like - like I’m in a spaceship hovering over Afghanistan. I can see Kabul from my window, but I’ve never actually been there.”

“Well, good,” Ben says irritably. “Let’s hope you don’t ever have to go.”

So far, the most Hux has actually seen of Kabul has been a ten-minute drive to another American base nearby. He had been anxious, hyper-alert, scanning the traffic and the people walking nearby and the dusty city streets for any sign of danger. All he noticed was that there seemed to be an inordinate number of wedding halls in the vicinity of the base - one every few blocks, each one festooned with neon lights and sprouting a profusion of ornate plaster columns and curlicues.

At one point, a Toyota truck full of young men careened through traffic and come to a screeching halt next to Hux’s Humvee while it waited at an intersection. Two men leaned out of the passenger-seat window, and Hux, imagining that they might be about to open fire or throw a grenade, put a hand on his sidearm. But it turned out that the men were only interested in the female soldier who was driving that day. “Hello, hello!” they shouted at her through the Humvee’s bulletproof window, waving and blowing kisses until the intersection cleared and she was able to drive off.

But when Hux returned to his office, his team chief, Colonel Peavey, glanced up at him sharply. “You didn’t go through Massoud Circle on your way back, did you?”

“I don’t think so, sir,” Hux said. “Why do you ask?”

“Because Massoud Circle just blew up,” the colonel responded calmly. Hux reached into his pocket unthinkingly to touch the little amulet that Ben had given him. “A truck packed with explosives. At rush hour. Dozens of casualties, probably. So lucky you.” He went back to scrolling through his email. 

Hux doesn’t mention any of this to Ben. Instead, he says, “Actually, I know someone I can trust to let you know if anything happens to me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I’ll talk to Mitaka about it.”

“Mitaka? How would he know?”

“He’s out here too,” Hux says. “Not at the same base - he’s at Bagram, but he comes here every week for some kind of logistics meeting. If anything happened to me he’d definitely hear about it. I’ll talk to him about it next time I see him.”

“Small world,” Ben remarks, sounding somewhat calmer. “How’s little Mitaka doing, anyway? Is he still with that guy he was dating at West Point?”

“He’s good, and yes,” Hux says. “That’s why he’s here, actually. I’ve never seen anyone who was so happy to be in Afghanistan.” 

“Really? Why?”

“He had to work really hard to get here,” Hux says. “Apparently Thanisson’s brigade was going to deploy but Mitaka’s brigade probably wasn’t going to go until Thanisson’s got back, and then Mitaka might have had to deploy again - so they might have been separated for years. So Mitaka said he came up with this stirring speech about how he couldn’t handle being out of the fight any longer and he absolutely needed to deploy immediately and he needed to be on the front lines with his men - “

Ben laughs. “With one man in particular, I guess.”

“Yes, exactly,” Hux says. “He said that too - he was laughing about how it wasn’t totally a lie. Anyway, he said he was bothering everyone he could think of with that speech for weeks - his commander, Thanisson’s commander, the personnel offices, his old supervisor, his new supervisor - and eventually they let him transfer to the deploying brigade, maybe just to get him to shut up and go away. So now they’re here together finally. They’re roommates, even.”

“Nice,” Ben says, a little wistfully. “I wish we could do that.”

Hux laughs a little. “What, are you thinking of enlisting? You’d be miserable if you were in the military. They’d make you cut your hair, for one thing.”

“The hair would be too much of a sacrifice,” Ben agrees. “But hey, you never know. Maybe your friend who runs the Thai place needs a bartender.” 

“Maybe,” Hux says, thinking _At least you’re safe where you are._ When Mitaka had mentioned the name of Thanisson’s battalion, Hux realized that Thanisson was a pilot in the same Black Hawk unit that had just lost a helicopter and its crew to an IED buried in a remote landing zone. The dead pilot had been a year ahead of Hux and Mitaka at West Point. She had been a cheerleader - Hux hadn’t known her personally, but he remembers seeing her dance on the field at football games, perpetually smiling, her hair the color of strawberry punch. He and Mitaka haven’t discussed her death, but he feels certain that Mitaka thinks of it every time Thanisson leaves on a mission. 

To Ben, Hux says, “We’re not allowed to drink out here, but the Europeans are. The French just invited everyone to a cocktail reception for their new commander, and then they had to put out a correction specifying that Americans were allowed to come but not allowed to have any cocktails.”

Ben laughs. “Maybe that can be how I serve my country,” he says. “Smuggling cocktails to my fellow Americans.”

“You’d be the most popular person on base, for sure.”

“That could be fun,” Ben says. “Although you know what would be better?”

“Is this the thing where I convince my chain of command that I need you here to be my emotional-support pet and then I just keep you tied to my bed all day?”

“You read my mind.”

“That might be kind of awkward for my roommate, though,” Hux observes. “Speaking of which, he’s going to be back in a minute. And since we’re not dead, I need to go to work.” 

***

“Guess what!” Ben says excitedly, a few days later.

“What?” Hux asks, warily.

“I got a job! This company that makes leather fetish gear wants me to model their stuff.”

Hux laughs. “Of all the things you might have said,” he says, “somehow I wasn’t expecting that. But congratulations!”

“Thanks! It’s the first modeling job I’ve gotten since that guy messed up my face. But they said they actually like the scar.” 

“I don’t know why you’re so surprised, I told you some people would think it was interesting,” Hux says, pleased. They have their webcams on, and Ben looks happier than he has in weeks. “Maybe your scar can become your distinctive thing, like a gap between your teeth or very thick eyebrows or something. Aren’t models supposed to have that?”

Ben laughs. “I had no idea you paid any attention to the fashion industry.”

“Mitaka used to watch ‘America’s Next Top Model’ religiously when we were roommates,” Hux says, “and unfortunately I have an excellent memory. Anyway, do you think you’ll get to keep any of the gear?”

“Probably not, that shit’s expensive.” Ben cocks an eyebrow at Hux. “Why, would you be into that?”

“Maybe,” Hux says. “Do you know what exactly you’ll be modeling?”

“Some kind of biker-fetish gear, apparently. Maybe that’s why they cast me. Because I look like I’ve been in a motorcycle accident.” Ben looks gloomy again for a moment.

“You really don’t,” Hux says, annoyed. “And I doubt that this fetish ad is going for that kind of gritty realism, anyway.”

“I guess not.” Ben grins. “So what do you think? Do I look like a fetish biker to you?”

“For a sensitive Jewish artist from the Upper East Side, I suppose you might make a fairly credible Hell’s Angel,” Hux allows. “The fetish version, anyway, not the old men with the long beards.”

“Oh, what, so now you think Jews can’t be Hell’s Angels?”

Hux rolls his eyes. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to downplay your people’s important contribution to motorcycle-based gang violence.”

“I accept your apology,” Ben says magnanimously. “So, you have the morning off, right? Is your roommate around?”

“No, he’s off on another work trip.” 

Ben grins. “Out protecting Gotham again?”

“Something like that. He keeps getting pulled from his regular job to help out as a Russian translator.” Batman specializes in early-warning systems for ballistic missiles - a skillset that, fortunately, is not particularly useful in Afghanistan. But the Russian-language skills that Batman had been forced to acquire as a child in Soviet-dominated Mongolia have proven to be surprisingly vital: they allow him to communicate with the senior Afghan officers who had previously been trained by the Russians to fight American-backed militias. Conveniently for Hux, this irony of Central Asian geopolitics means that he has his own room most of the time. 

Ben looks pleased. “In that case,” he says, “want to get out that package I sent you?”

Hux’s face goes hot. “Why, do you want to watch me use it?” 

“Obviously,” Ben says. “Did you think I sent it to you just because I care so much about supporting the troops?”

Hux bites his lip. “I don’t know.”

“It’d be really fucking hot to watch you,” Ben says. “Please?”

“This will be very uncomfortable if my roommate comes back unexpectedly.”

“Just turn on a fan or something to cover the noise and if you hear someone unlocking the door yank a blanket over you,” Ben suggests. “Besides, even if he does figure out that you’re jerking off, who cares? Isn’t that pretty much what you’re supposed to do with your one morning off a week?”

“We’re probably supposed to call our families and go to the gym,” Hux says, “not do live webcam sex shows.”

“I know which of those options sounds more fun to me,” Ben observes, hopefully.

“Oh all right,” Hux says, getting up. He checks to make sure the door is locked, then digs into his footlocker for the package from Ben. He had opened it and charged it when it first arrived, but then his roommate had come back from a trip before he could use it. Ben has thoughtfully included a bottle of the brand of lube they normally use; the faint, familiar scent as he peels off the sanitary seal makes him feel suddenly and intensely homesick.

The vibrator Ben sent is the same kind they usually use together, too - an abstract, vaguely L-shaped curve of black plastic and metal. Hux sits back down in front of the laptop, holding it in one hand.

Ben looks at him and laughs. “You’re holding it like it might bite you,” he says. “Relax.”

“I just don’t normally use these by myself.”

“I know,” Ben says gently. “I wish I were there to use it on you. I’d take such good care of you.”

“Uh-huh,” says Hux, biting his lip. “What would you do, exactly?”

“Mmm,” says Ben, thoughtfully, looking at Hux intently through the screen. “I’d be waiting for you when you get back from work. Naked. And on my knees.”

Hux’s cock jerks at the idea. “Oh really?” he says. “I don’t think I can quite picture what that would look like.”

“No?”

“No,” Hux says. “So strip. And kneel.”

“You got it,” Ben says, grinning. Hux palms himself through his shorts as he watches Ben pull his tank top over his head and peel his boxers slowly down over his hips. Then he drops down onto his knees, looking appealingly up at Hux through the webcam. Hux can almost feel the remembered texture of Ben’s thick, soft hair under his hands; he wishes he could pull Ben towards him, rub the head of his cock over Ben’s full, bitten lips. As Hux watches, Ben wraps his fist around his half-hard cock, squeezing it.

“I didn’t tell you you could touch yourself,” Hux says sharply. “Put your hands on the back of your neck. And sit up straight.” Ben obeys immediately, with a sharp indrawn breath. Hux looks him up and down, admiring the bulging muscles in his folded arms, the way his torso tapers towards his waist, the thickness of his stiffening cock. Hux shifts position on the bed, resting his laptop between his spread legs, so that Ben can see his erection pressing up against the thin fabric of his shorts. Hux licks his palm and slides his hand under the waistband of his boxers, gripping his cock. 

Ben lets out a small sound as his eyes follow Hux’s hand. “I really wish I could touch you,” he says. “Take your shorts off? Please?”

“Weren’t you supposed to be telling me what you’d do to me if you were here?” Hux asks, stroking himself slowly. “Keep going.”

“Oh yeah,” Ben says. “So I’d be waiting for you, on my knees like this, and when you got here I’d crawl to you and press my face against the fly of your pants. Kiss your cock through your uniform.”

“I’d tell you to get down,” Hux says. “You haven’t earned that yet.”

“You’re so mean to me,” Ben says. 

“Because you like it.”

Ben makes a strained sound, squirming as he watches Hux’s hand move inside his shorts. “Hux - can I touch myself yet? Please?”

“No,” Hux says. “Keep talking.”

Ben takes a deep breath. “Okay. Uh, I’d get down on the floor. Kiss your boots. Beg you to let me suck you and eat you out.”

“That’s a good start,” Hux says, his cock throbbing in his hand. “I’d unbutton my fly slowly. Get my cock out and rub it against your face.” He pushes his boxer shorts down over his hips. His erection bobs up in front of the camera, getting wet at the tip as Hux watches the expression on Ben’s face. 

Ben groans. His body is trembling slightly now, his hands still clasped tightly behind his neck. A drop of sweat runs down his chest. “You’re so fucking hot,” he says. “I’d, uh. I wouldn’t be able to wait anymore. I’d have to lick your cock, taste it.”

“Mmm,” Hux says, still stroking himself. He’s getting close already. He forces himself to slow down, remembering that Ben really wants to see him use the vibrator on himself. He bites his lip. “But I didn’t give you permission to do that. So I’d have to punish you.”

“Yeah,” Ben breathes. “You could hold me down. Fuck my face, teach me a lesson.”

“I think you’d enjoy that too much.” Hux kicks his shorts off altogether and reaches for the vibrator and the lube. “I’d push you away. Make you kneel there and watch while I fuck myself with this toy.”

“Oh fuck,” Ben pants, mouth open, watching as Hux lubes up the toy and begins slowly working it inside himself. The angle is awkward, but the way Ben is looking at him through the screen makes it worth it. “Hux - please - I’m so hard right now - please let me touch my cock?”

“Not yet.” Hux fumbles for the buttons on the base of the vibrator and accidentally flips it onto a higher setting than he’d intended. His back arches involuntarily and he gasps as the sudden shock of pleasure sparks through him. “Ah!”

Ben makes a desperate little sound in his throat. His cock strains towards the camera, so hard that it looks almost painful. “Please - I need it - I need to come - “

“Yeah?” Hux manages, barely able to speak as he thrusts up frantically into his hand. “If you could - how do you want to come?”

“With your cock in my mouth,” Ben says, immediately. “And your boot between my legs - oh, fuck, Hux - “

“Okay,” Hux gasps, “go ahead - make yourself come - I want to watch you - “ Ben’s big hand drops to his cock immediately and he groans, his eyes rolling back as he fucks his fist. The toy is vibrating against Hux’s prostate from two angles, inside and outside, sending waves of heat through him. “Fuck!” His body shakes as he comes, hard, spattering his chest and stomach. 

“I wish I could lick that off you,” Ben pants, his thick cock sliding through his fist. A moment later, Hux watches his back arch and his face contort as his come spurts white through his fingers. “Ah - _Hux_!”

“That was fast,” Hux observes, gingerly pulling the vibrator out and wrapping it in a tissue. It occurs to him that trying to wash it in the communal bathroom is going to require a high degree of stealth. He scrubs at the mess on his stomach with his discarded shorts. “Been a while?”

Ben looks up at Hux, his face still flushed and blissful. “Yeah,” he says, smiling. “Remember how we talked about how I can’t come while you’re gone unless you give me permission?”

“I didn’t really mean for you to actually do that,” Hux says, somewhat alarmed. _No wonder you’ve been so stressed out_, he thinks. “We don’t get a chance to do this very often - you can jerk off whenever.”

“I like it this way,” Ben insists. “It’s hot. It makes me feel kind of - owned. In a good way.”

Hux smiles, feeling suddenly happier than he has in weeks. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” Ben says, with an intensity that surprises Hux. “I’ve been telling you this for years - I want you to own me. To be, like, your pet.”

Hux doesn’t quite know what to do with the way Ben is looking at him. “Speaking of pets,” he says, changing the subject, “where’s Millicent? Can I see her?”

Ben groans. “If you insist,” he says. “I need to get dressed first, though, or she’ll probably castrate me when I try to grab her. I’ve been telling people she’s the one who gave me this scar on my face.”

“You just have to be careful how you touch her,” Hux says. “I showed you how to pick her up without upsetting her.”

“Hux,” Ben says with finality, “trust me on this one. She’s just like you. There is no way for me to handle her that doesn’t result in me getting slightly maimed most of the time.” 

***

“I need to ask you for a favor,” Hux says, over his usual lunch of green curry in the mess hall.

“Of course! Anything I can do,” Mitaka says earnestly.

“Um,” Hux says. He lowers his voice. “Remember my friend Ben - I mean, Kylo?”

“Sure, I remember your _friend_.” Mitaka smiles. “What about him?”

Hux clears his throat. “I know this is unnecessary,” he says, “but if anything happens to me here, can you make sure you let him know? I’ll give you his phone number.”

Mitaka looks delighted. “Hux! Does that mean - are you two - “

Hux kicks him under the table. “_Shhhh_,” he hisses. “But yes. I think so.”

Mitaka squeezes Hux’s arm happily. “I’m so glad,” he says. “I always hoped you guys would work things out.”

Hux glances around to see if anyone is listening to their conversation. “Yes, well, we’ll see what happens.”

“But things are good? So far?”

Hux smiles. “Yes, actually. So far.”

“I’m so happy for you,” Mitaka says sincerely. “You know - he called me a few times. Kylo. After you ended things.”

“He did?” Hux asks, instantly annoyed. “Why? He knew you were dating someone.”

“What? Oh no, not like that. He called to ask about you.”

“Oh, I had no idea.” Hux tries not to sound pleased.

“Yeah, he called a few times during the semester after you split up. Just asking about you, how you were doing.”

“Why didn’t you tell me he’d called?”

“He asked me not to.” Mitaka takes a large bite of curry. “I kept telling him to just talk to you, that you seemed like you missed him, but he said that you wouldn’t want to hear from him. That you were tired of being jerked around.”

“Well.” Hux looks at his plate. “He was right about that.”

“I guess,” says Mitaka. “The last time I heard from him was at the beginning of our junior year. You know, right after we had to commit to staying in the army. He was hoping that maybe you’d decided to get out.”

“He knew I wasn’t going to do that.”

“He did,” Mitaka agrees. “But he missed you.”

“He got over that fast enough,” Hux says, thinking of the blond boy who had begun appearing in Ben’s Facebook photos a few months after that last phone call to Mitaka. 

“Did he, though?” Mitaka looks at Hux. “Doesn’t sound like it. Anyway, of course I’ll call him if - if anything happens, but I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Oh, I know it’ll be fine,” Hux says, somewhat impatiently. “I keep telling him that I’m perfectly safe hiding out on this base and not really doing anything interesting, but he’s afraid that if something crazy does happen no one will think to let him know.”

“Yeah, no kidding - imagine finding out something like that from someone’s stupid Facebook post or whatever.” Mitaka grimaces. “But if you want to reassure him, maybe tell him that when I called USAA to talk to them about buying life insurance before I deployed, they didn’t seem at all worried about me deploying as a staff officer. They actually seemed way more concerned when I told them I was planning to go scuba diving during R&R.”

Hux laughs. “Really?”

“Yes.” Mitaka looks suddenly doleful. “Of course for Pete, being a pilot, the level of risk doesn’t quite work out that way.”

“Well,” Hux says, “at least you guys get to be roommates here.”

“There are some consolations,” Mitaka agrees.

***

“Ben,” Hux says, “they’re asking us to put in preferences for when we can take R&R.” He hesitates, looking out through the small window. It’s early November; the deepening chill hasn’t much affected the grayish-brown hues of the base and the hills around it, but it’s cold enough that Hux has made an executive decision to stop taking the anti-malarial medications the Army had issued him. He was lucky enough to receive the kind that doesn’t cause nightmares and hallucinations- he’s heard plenty about that from other soldiers, including one who claims to have woken up naked in the mess hall with no memory of how he had gotten there - but the pills cause him to sunburn even more easily than normal. The back of his neck is perpetually red and irritated. “Do you still want to go somewhere with me? Does April or May work for you?”

“What? Sure, whenever,” Ben says. “I mean, I have no idea what my work schedule is going to be like in the spring, but I’ll figure something out so I can see you.” Hux relaxes against the back of his chair. “The only thing is - “

“What?” Hux asks, tensing up again.

“ - I know you wanted to go to Paris or something, and I’m really sorry, but do you think you could just come see me here in New York instead?”

“Why? I thought you wanted to go to Europe.”

“Of course I want to go to Europe,” Ben says, sounding exasperated now. “I just don’t have any money. And I’m tired of borrowing from my mother. I’ve been trying to take extra shifts, but things have been slow at the bar lately, and - “

“Ben,” Hux says, “it’s fine. I’ll pay for you to come.” _If you actually want to see me and this isn’t just an excuse_, he thinks. 

“I don’t want to take your money.”

“I literally have nothing else to spend it on,” Hux says. “I’m getting combat pay here and my only monthly expense is a storage unit in Texas. And sometimes I eat at the Thai place.” His visits there have been increasingly frequent as the weeks drag on: Wow, the manager, is the only person on the base who takes an interest in how Hux is doing. Or at least she successfully feigns interest. 

“Are you sure?” Ben sounds torn. Then he perks up. “I guess I can always pay you back in sexual favors.”

Hux rolls his eyes. “Yes, sure, do that.”

“Is there anything you’ve always wanted to do that we haven’t done?” Ben asks. “In bed, I mean. Not, like, historical battlefields that you’ve always wanted to drag me to.”

“What if that _is_ my biggest sexual fantasy?” Hux demands. “Would that make you more interested in learning about military history with me?”

“Oh my god,” Ben says, “if it were, I’d be so conflicted. Between wanting to watch you get really turned on and wanting to punch myself in the face. Because that’s what going to battlefields is like for me.”

“Funny, that’s how I feel about most of the art museums you’ve dragged me to,” Hux retorts. “Anyway, I don’t quite have your vivid imagination when it comes to sexual fantasies. Actually I feel like I’ve spent most of my life trying _not_ to think about sex. You just make that especially difficult.”

Ben laughs. “Good,” he says. “But really? There isn’t anything you’d like to do that you haven’t told me about?”

“Well - “ Hux hesitates.

“Tell me! I promise, I’m fine with whatever.”

“I used to fantasize a lot about you forcing me,” Hux says, biting his lip. “I mean, really forcing me.”

“Really? Like, a rape fantasy?” Ben looks startled. “Somehow I didn’t expect that.”

“You said you were fine with anything.”

“I am! Like, it’s not even that different from stuff we’ve done - I know you’ve talked about wanting me to hold you down and fuck you and stuff. I just didn’t know you wanted me to be more, I guess, aggressive about it.”

“Well, now you know,” Hux says curtly.

“I do!” Ben looks pleased. “We can do that, I’m good with that. We just have to have safe words and stuff. And you need to actually use them if you’re uncomfortable - don’t do your dumb soldier thing where you grimly endure something you hate.”

“I won’t. When have I ever not told you to stop doing something I don’t like?”

“Lots of times, probably, when it actually mattered,” Ben says, “instead of just bullshit stuff about how you think my earrings are dumb or whatever.” He pauses. “Also, you know you don’t have to buy me a ticket to Paris to get me to do stuff you’re into, right? We don’t have to only act out my fantasies all the time.”

“I know that,” Hux says, offended. “You’re the one who brought up wanting to pay me back with sexual favors.”

“Just checking.”

“Anyway,” Hux says, “send me your passport information so I can buy you a ticket. Paris, right? Is that what we decided?”

“Sure, that sounds amazing,” Ben says. He laughs a little. “Just, uh, make sure you put my actual legal name on the ticket, okay?” 

“Wait,” Hux says, feeling suddenly as if he had managed to catch his hand in a door that he hadn’t realized was there. “Your legal name isn’t Benjamin Solo anymore?”

“No. I got a court order to change it to Kylo Ren. Years ago.”

“You never told me!”

“You didn’t ask.”

Hux bites down hard on the inside of his cheek. “Have you been pissed off at me this whole time about me calling you Ben?”

“No, not really,” Ben - Kylo? - says calmly. “I mean, back when we were first dating, it did bother me that this was something that was really important to me and you were just, like, ‘that’s ridiculous, I’m not doing it.’ But these days you’re pretty much the only person who still calls me Ben. It - I don’t know, it kind of brings back memories.”

“Memories of you being pissed off at me?”

Ben laughs. “Well, that too, but not _only_ that.” He’s quiet for a moment. “I don’t know how you remember all of that. After, um. After how it ended.”

“We don’t need to go back into that,” Hux says irritably.

“No, yeah, sure,” Ben says hastily. “I just mean, I remember a lot of good stuff too.” He grins. “Like, you were the first guy to ever step on my dick.”

Hux laughs, feeling relieved. “What a romantic memory.”

“Well,” Ben says, “between that and a bunch of overpriced flowers or something, I know what I’d rather have.”

***

“Ben? Can you hear me?”

“Barely - I’m at the bar, I just ducked into the back for a second,” Ben says, shouting to be heard over what sounds like loud music. “What’s up?”

“I just wanted to tell you I’m okay. I couldn’t get a WiFi signal earlier.” Someone knocks on the door of the men’s room that Hux has locked himself into. “One second!”

“Wait, what?” Ben says. “Did you say you’re okay? What’s going on?”

“I guess it’s not on the news yet,” Hux says, louder. “There was an insider attack. At the building where I work. But I wasn’t there.”

“Hold on a second, I need to go outside, I can’t hear anything in here.” There’s a pause. “Okay, sorry. What’s up?”

“There was an insider attack,” Hux says, feeling suddenly, horribly close to tears. “I knew this was going to happen. The door to my building is supposed to lock but it doesn’t, I keep putting in work orders but nobody fixes it.”

“Hux,” Ben says, gently. “Babe. Slow down. What just happened? There was an attack?”

“Yes,” Hux says. There’s a sign on the inside of the bathroom door that says _DO NOT FORGET YOUR WEAPON._ He stares at it, breathing in, trying to calm down. The air smells of bleach and antibacterial handwash. “I wasn’t there. Colonel Peavey sent me to Bagram with General Tarkin to take notes on a meeting about supply issues because he thought it would be boring and he didn’t want to go himself. And then a couple of Afghan soldiers shot up our building while I was gone. They were supposed to be waiting for a flight. They came in through the broken door.” 

“Holy shit,” Ben says. “I’m so glad you weren’t there.”

“I still don’t know much beyond that,” Hux says. “I don’t know what happened to my team.” Hux realizes that he’s clutching the little amulet that Ben had given him; there’s something comforting about the smooth weight of it against his palm. “But I heard they shot the British lieutenant who works down the hall. The UK commander’s deputy aide. Tim.”

“Is he a friend of yours?”

“Not really,” Hux says. “But I go to his office all the time to use his electric teakettle. Sometimes he brings us biscuits, whenever his boss has an annoying task for us to do. Now he’s being MEDEVAC’d to Germany; I heard they shot him in the head.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I kept telling them to fix the door.”

“I know,” Ben says soothingly. “I know, babe. I’m sure you did everything you could.”

“It’s just so stupid,” Hux says miserably. He aches, suddenly, with his longing to just lie down next to Ben, to sleep and be held. “Everything about this situation is so - just so stupid. So stupid and pointless.” The person outside pounds on the bathroom door and shouts. “I said one second!”

“One second what?” Ben asks. 

“I’m in a bathroom at the brigade headquarters at Bagram,” Hux says. “I have to go, this guy sounds like he’s going to break the door down.”

“I have to go back to work anyway,” Ben says. “But I’m so sorry this happened. Call me when you can, okay?”

“I will.”

***

“Well,” Hux says, back in his room, a day later, “my team seems to be mostly okay. Just shaken up. And we’re working out of a converted shipping container until they finish the incident investigation.”

“Oh good,” Ben says, looking at him through the webcam. He looks strained and tired. It’s late at night in Kabul, but in New York the mid-morning light is shining on Ben’s face. Hux can faintly hear the hiss of the radiator in the background. The sound reminds him painfully of lying next to Ben on winter nights in New York City; here by himself, in the barracks in December, he’s perpetually cold. “Maybe that’s safer, anyway.”

“They killed two Air Force officers.” Hux chews on his lower lip. “They don’t even work in my building. They just stopped by to say hi to some friend of theirs and got shot in the back as they walked out of his office.”

“Ugh, how awful,” Ben says. “Did you hear anything else about your friend? Teakettle guy?”

“He made it to Germany,” Hux says. “Other than that, I don’t know, but it didn’t sound good. People who saw him said they were surprised he still had a pulse when the medics got to him.”

“I don’t even know what to say.” Ben pauses, looking away. “I wish so much that you could just come home. But I guess after what happened last month, I’m not even 100% sure you’d be safer in Texas.”

“I know,” Hux says. Four weeks earlier, an Army psychiatrist had walked into the Soldier Readiness Processing Center at Fort Hood and opened fire on the soldiers waiting to deploy. “Until yesterday my unit hadn’t taken a single casualty in Afghanistan - only back at Hood. The attack in Texas was a lot worse, actually.”

“Craziness,” Ben says. “You know that saying, about how ‘may you live in interesting times’ is actually a curse? I’m ready to live in less interesting times. Any day now.”

“So am I,” Hux says. “I was talking to this guy at lunch in the mess hall who just got here. He was almost at the processing center when that guy attacked it. He showed up there in the morning to get his pre-deployment medical stuff done and they told him he was late for a mandatory briefing and that he would have to come back the next day. He said he was, like, ‘What the fuck is this bullshit, why are you wasting my time like this,’ but they wouldn’t budge, so he left. He was really pissed off. Then a few hours later Major Hasan showed up and started shooting.”

“So his life was maybe saved by bureaucratic nitpicking,” Ben says. “Why do I feel like this is going to become a story you tell over and over?”

Hux rolls his eyes. “Shut up, Ben,” he says, feeling somewhat better. “Anyway, about Texas - I might not actually have to be there that much longer after I get back.”

Ben perks up. “Really? I thought you had to be there for three years.”

“That was the plan. But I was talking to General Tarkin the other day about my background in robotics and how I’m interested in weapons design, and he told me he could help me get transferred to DC when we get back. I’ll be a captain by then, and he thinks there might be assignment opportunities for me at DIA or DARPA.” The dream of that future assignment - and of being just a train ride away from Ben’s cramped bedroom in Brooklyn - tugs at Hux like a helium balloon. It simultaneously lifts him off his feet and threatens at any moment to burst in the air and disappear.

“DC? That would be awesome,” Ben says. “I’ve been down there to visit Rey a bunch of times. I could do DC.”

Hux looks at him, startled. “You could do DC? As in - “

“I mean, I’d definitely come visit wherever you were.” Ben is carefully not looking at Hux. “But yeah, I’d move there. To be with you. If you want.”

Hux has that helium-balloon feeling again, carrying him higher. He remembers brushing his teeth next to Ben in the shared bathroom in Brooklyn on his last morning of leave. At the time, the idea of waking up next to Ben every day had seemed lovely but impossible, like a faintly-remembered childhood fantasy. He realizes that he’s sitting there silently staring at the screen without responding, and that Ben is beginning to look increasingly upset. “I’d love that,” Hux says. “I really would.”

Ben beams. “Awesome!” he says. “Just, like, take care of yourself, okay? And once you have orders or whatever to go to DC I can go stay with Rey and start looking for a place for us.”

“What about your work, though? Don’t you need to be in New York for that?”

Ben laughs, somewhat ruefully. “What, at the bar? I’m not sticking around here for that.”

“No - your painting and photography and so on.” Hux waves a hand. “And modeling. Don’t you need to be in New York for that?” 

Ben shrugs. “I can always take the bus back to Manhattan for casting calls and auditions. And I’m sure I can be a failed artist in DC just as easily as here.”

“You’re not a failed artist,” Hux says impatiently. Ben’s self-deprecating moods have always annoyed him. “People buy your work.”

“I haven’t sold a piece in months.” 

“And you had that solo show when you were in college.” He remembers too late that he had been pretending not to know anything about what Ben had gotten up to after they broke up.

Ben perks up visibly. “I’m pretty sure I never mentioned that show to you. Been googling me?”

“Maybe.”

“I wish you’d come to see it.” Ben sighs. “Some of the paintings were of you. Not your face, don’t worry.”

“I know,” Hux admits, feeling a sudden, secret flush of pleasure. So the boy he had seen from behind in the paintings had not been Ben’s art-school boyfriend, after all. “I may have walked by the gallery once or twice.”

“Awww, Hux, I didn’t know you cared.” Hux shrugs, embarrassed. “I actually almost invited you to the gallery opening. I wish I had.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I really didn’t think you’d ever want to hear from me again, after how things ended,” Ben says with a wince. “And I didn’t want to seem like a weird stalker. You know, still painting you and trying to get you to come see me years after we broke up.” He sighs again. “Now I’m just mad that we wasted so much time.”

“Well,” Hux says, “that was your choice, not mine.”

“Only sort of,” Ben says. He starts to say something else, then stops abruptly. “Anyway. Just take care of yourself, and come back, okay?”

***

“Thanks for the rug with the skulls and tanks on it,” Ben says, on Christmas morning. “It’s pretty awesome.” He looks wistfully at Hux through the webcam. “So how’s Christmas in Afghanistan?” Ben’s dark hair is hanging loosely around his face, and Hux is briefly distracted by the thought of how much he wants to grab at it, push Ben down onto his knees, pull his head back. But his roommate has just gone to the mess hall for breakfast and might come back at any moment, so he pushes the thought away.

“Cold,” Hux says succinctly. “We’re having a white Christmas, at least.” Outside, the fresh snow has made the drab airbase temporarily beautiful: the grey cinderblock buildings, beige shipping containers, and dark green tents now sparkle white under a clear blue sky. “It actually does look like a Christmas card here right now, except with more armored vehicles.”

Ben laughs. “Doing anything fun for the holiday?”

Hux shrugs. “I have the day off, and we’re supposed to have some kind of special meal in the mess hall. Oh, and last night Batman took me to a party with the Mongolians.”

“What’s a Mongolian Christmas party like?”

“Mostly we sat around eating dumplings and watching ‘Mongolia’s Got Talent,’” Hux says. “There were a lot of contortionists on it for some reason. And after a while a couple of the Mongolian soldiers got up and started demonstrating Mongolian wrestling moves.”

“That sounds way more interesting than having dim sum with my family on Christmas morning.”

“It was different,” Hux says. “One of the squad leaders is apparently a wrestling champion back in his home province. He’s a huge guy, looks like a bull. When he introduced himself to me he told me his American name is Chuck Norris.”

Ben laughs. “I didn’t even know there were Mongolian soldiers out there with you.”

“I didn’t either, until Batman told me about them,” Hux says. “Although I had been wondering why there was a giant mural of Genghis Khan on the side of one of the buildings near the mess hall. Apparently one of the Mongolian soldiers is an artist.”

“That’s cool,” Ben says. “Although Genghis Khan doesn’t really seem like a great role model for winning hearts and minds out there.”

“Probably not,” Hux says. “But he’s a national hero in Mongolia. And when I asked the Mongolian company commander how Mongolian people feel about having soldiers in Afghanistan, he told me that they’re very proud that their soldiers are following in the footsteps of Genghis Khan.”

“Okay, yeah, your Christmas has definitely been more interesting than mine so far,” Ben says. He looks at Hux hesitantly. “Not to ruin the holiday, but there’s something I need to talk to you about. Unrelated to Mongolians.”

“Oh no,” Hux says apprehensively, “what now?”

“So, like, I really want to move in with you,” Ben says, “even if you don’t get to go to DC - I can figure out something to do in Texas - but - “

Hux glares at him. “But what? You’ve changed your mind already?”

“No! I just wanted to ask - what if someone starts asking questions about who I am and why I’m living with you? Are you going to kick me out?”

“No,” Hux says indignantly. “Do you really think I would do that?”

“I hope not.” Ben is looking at him anxiously, his eyes large and dark. 

“I suppose I will still have to tell people you’re just my roommate, if they ask,” Hux says reluctantly, “but they’re not supposed to ask. At worst, I’ll just have to find some other job. Outside the Army.”

Ben looks startled. “Really? You’d be willing to risk that? For me?”

“Yes,” Hux says, realizing only as he says it that it’s true. “It’s different now - I know I wasn’t willing to take those sorts of risks at West Point, but - at West Point I had such a sense of purpose. It seemed like it would all be worth it, any - any sacrifice I had to make. But I don’t think I feel that way anymore.”

Ben looks wary. He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re actually getting tired of being a cog in the war machine.”

“I’d be happy to be a cog in an efficient, effective war machine,” Hux snaps, annoyed. “That’s what I signed up to do. Unfortunately that’s not what we have here.”

“No?”

“No, not at all,” Hux says. “I’ve always had my doubts about the nation-building aspect of our mission here, but the longer I spend here, the more pointless it all seems. I draft the executive summary of General Tarkin’s report to the Joint Staff every week, and right now it’s easy to spin the troop surge as a success. If you apply enough firepower to any situation, you can describe it as a victory - “

“That sounds like something you’d put on an inspirational mug.”

“ - but it doesn’t mean anything in the end,” Hux goes on, ignoring him. “There’s no political solution. We’re handing over massive amounts of development aid to corrupt politicians and con artists. Some of whom are actively trying to kill us. Every U.S. government agency is out here working at cross-purposes, it’s like a circular firing squad. And every commander up and down the chain comes in here, says, ‘The last guy fucked up, but I’m going to fix it,’ then leaves at the end of the year calling it all fixed. Then his replacement comes in and does the same thing. And it all goes on forever. Pointlessly.”

Ben is looking at him in some astonishment. Then he laughs. “You’re the only person I’ve ever dated who could turn a conversation about our relationship into a diatribe about military strategy,” he says. “But that was pretty good. You should write an op-ed.”

“Maybe I will,” Hux says, flushing. “Anyway, the point is, I’m no longer willing to give up everything for this organization. If I can’t - if they won’t let me have a personal life, I’ll leave. It’s as simple as that.”

Ben is shaking his head. “That’s not the most romantic way to say that you’d choose me,” he says, “but I guess I’ll take it.”

Hux rolls his eyes. “Neither of us has ever been very romantic,” he says. “But - I would, you know. I would choose you.” It seems exceptionally pointless, somehow, to go on not saying it. “I - I suppose you should probably know, I’m in love with you.”

Ben stares at him, open-mouthed. For a long moment Hux feels suspended over a cliff’s edge. Then Ben smiles in a way that makes Hux dizzy. “I love you too,” he says softly. “I think I’ve been in love with you ever since I pulled you out of that locker in seventh grade. Even when you were being a dick.”

Hux laughs, mostly because he’s overwhelmed with relief. “I wouldn’t say I was in love with you back then. You were much too scrawny for me at the time.”

“I see how it is,” Ben says, pushing out his lower lip playfully. “So you’re saying you only love me for my body?”

“I didn’t say that,” Hux says, trying to look severe, “but it certainly helps to compensate for your aggravating personality.”

Ben laughs. “You love being aggravated,” he says. “It’s like your number-one kink.”

“Well,” Hux says, “I suppose that would explain what I see in you.”

“It would.” Ben is still looking at Hux in that dizzying, shattering way. “You know, I was really kind of dreading the holidays this year. But it’s turned out to be a pretty good Christmas after all.”

“I’ve had worse,” Hux agrees.

**Author's Note:**

> Non-Graphic Violence/War: Hux isn’t directly involved in combat, but he hears an ongoing firefight in the distance, and his base experiences an insider attack while he’s not there. Also, a female OC’s death in combat is referenced, as is a male OC’s serious injury. 
> 
> Referenced Mass Shooting: The 2009 shooting at Fort Hood would have happened about two months after Hux deployed from there. Ben and Hux talk about it over the phone. Not graphic. 
> 
> Homophobia: Nothing graphic, but DADT is still in effect, and there’s a brief reference to  
Hux’s past discomfort with drag performers.
> 
> Referenced Rape Fantasy: Hux tells Ben that he wants Ben to hold him down and pretend to force him to have sex. Not acted out.
> 
> Sex: Ben and Hux talk through one of Ben’s submissive fantasies while jerking off in front of a webcam.
> 
> Also, I wasn’t sure how to tag this, but the fic presents Hux’s (white, American, somewhat conservative) perspective on the war. There’s no real discussion of the Afghan victims of the war or any attempt to present Afghan points of view on it. 
> 
> One more chapter to go! And once again, I have to apologize for not responding to comments. Please know that I love and appreciate everyone who leaves comments or kudos - you guys mean so much to me. Come yell at me on Twitter under the same username if you’re so inclined.


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